You may perhaps be fortunate enough to see a fight between ants. I say fortunate, because you may watch an ant-hill a whole day and not perceive a single dispute between the inhabitants. Ants, though very brave, are, like all brave people, not quarrelsome. They never seem jealous or ill-tempered, and it must be some very grave cause which sets two ants of the same tribe fighting. A fight with them is a very serious matter, since it always means death to one or both parties.
The combatants are never interfered with by the rest of the tribe. They evidently consider it a matter between the two who are fighting, and the duel is allowed to go on to the end. Ants in their battles use legs and jaws. The latter are enormously powerful for the size of the creature; as powerful in proportion as if a man were provided with a pair of steam shears, and could cut off iron bars two inches thick. They grasp each other with their jaws, pulling and hauling with all their strength. Once having taken hold they never let go. The end of the fight is generally the gradual exhaustion and death of both rivals. Often, however, one of the ants will pull the other apart, that is, tear off his head, which he bears triumphantly away with him. Where he puts it, or what he does with it, remains for some sharp-eyed observer to determine, for no one has ever yet found out.
The hill-ants, as they are sometimes called from the shape of their nests, are fond of building in the woods, and especially under fir and hemlock trees, because the needle-like leaves which fall to the ground afford convenient material for the construction of their homes. These little hills are full of passages and chambers, which communicate with each other. It is difficult to examine them, as they fall to pieces if the nest is opened.
THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB.[1]
BY W. L. ALDEN,
Author of "The Moral Pirates," "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" etc., etc.
Chapter XII.
Joe was alone on the St. Lawrence in the middle of the night, and with a sprained wrist, which nearly disabled him so far as paddling was concerned. Worse than this, his comrades had disappeared, and there could not be the slightest doubt that their canoes had floated away with them while they were sound asleep. What chance had he of finding them? How could he get ashore, with his sprained wrist; and what probability was there that the three boys thus carried away in their sleep would escape from their dangerous situation without any serious accident?
As these questions presented themselves to Joe his first impulse was to admit that he was completely disheartened and to burst into tears. He was, however, far too manly to yield to it, and he immediately began to think what was the best thing that he could do in the circumstances.